Not So Different After All
by BattleOfTheSpecters
Summary: After Vernon and Geralt are forced to leave behind their ship and make the way to Loc Muinne by foot, they unexpectedly cross paths with a certain rebellious elf. Now Vernon has to face his inner demons, his guilt and the burden of a king's blood on his hands as well as to fight alongside one friend and one foe, who turns out to be not so different from him after all...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Vernon Roche was furious.

Most people probably would not be able to tell, but Geralt of Rivia could; they had been traveling together long enough now for him to be able to spot the little signs which indicated that Vernon's mood was slowly edging toward the danger zone.

His hands were trembling slightly, for one thing - almost too faintly to be noticed - and clenched to fists at his sides. The commander's face underneath the black chaperon was calm and emotionless, but the wild look in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Henselt?", Geralt asked quietly.

Roche shook his head and said nothing. He did not slow down, nor did he stop or look back. Geralt fell in beside him, choosing not to speak.

They walked away from the town of Vergen, which was engulfed in flames and raging with war between now kingless soldiers and non-humans, walked away from the monarch's corpse, lying on the cold stone floor with a knife in his chest.

"Only we know what happened here... Well, and Henselt. The sooner we forget it the better.", Geralt said.

"I'll erase it from my memory."

But Geralt knew Vernon would not. He had had his revenge (or at least part of it), but the murder of king Henselt of Kaedwen would forever haunt him.

He was a loyal man to Temeria, a soldier, and had been absolutely dedicated to his king. You could say a lot of horrible things about Vernon Roche, and most of it would be true. But he was not capable of killing a king and simply forgetting about it.

It was curious - that man had slaughtered countless non-humans, among them women and children, but the death of another country's ruler who had also been a rapist and the murderer of his comrades had effected him more than anything.

"Do you regret it?"

"Not now, and not ever. The bastard got what he derseved, Geralt. Next is his little pet dog, that ploughing sorcerer. And he won't be so lucky, I tell you. If I get my hands on 'im, he's gonna suffer. I'll cut of his balls and shove them down his throat if need be.", Vernon growled. "And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

Geralt let it drop and they lapsed back into silence, which was only broken by the clanking of their armor resounding from the high stone walls that enclosed the valley they were passing through. Around them, butterflies danced happily to and fro beside green bushes and inconspicious little flowers on the wayside, completely oblivious to the people dying only a few miles away from them.

A ship's mast appeared in the distance, drawing steadily nearer as Geralt and Vernon made their way towards the barge waiting on the shore of the Pontar river. As they approached, a figure emerged from the shadows and hurried to meet them.

It was Ves, the young woman serving under Roche in The Blue Stripes. She looked relieved, but tired and had dark circles under her eyes. It was obvious she was suffering from the same disease as Vernon was: The pain of having seen the death of her friends, of not being able to do anything, and of still being alive.

But she, just as Vernon, was a soldier - and did everything she could to keep her emotions in check.

"Commander. Geralt.", she said as calmly as possible, but Geralt suspected she would rather throw her arms around him in relief.

"It's good to see you. The sailors were already getting nervous because you were gone for so long. What kept you?"

The two men exchanged a glance.

"Nothing in particular.", Vernon lied. "Let's get out of this goddamn place, and fast. Come on."

They followed Ves onto the ship. As soon as they set foot on the deck, someone shouted "Cast off!" and off they were indeed, towards their next destination: Loc Muinne, the ancient town in the mountains, where Vernon and Geralt would confront Sile and Letho, take revenge on Dethmold once and for all and rescue Foltest's daughter, Anais, from the sorcerer's clutches.

But before all of this could happen, the Witcher and the Temerian commander would have to go on another unexpected adventure, a journey with many dangers, old acquaintances new discoveries...

**AN: Phew, so I could finally bring myself to post this story. Until now I had my doubts, but I read it again and decided I wanted to reward myself for the work I put in this. Anyway, I hope you like the story, I will probably add some chapters over the following week. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Two days after their departure from Vergen, Vernon Roche was leaning against the railing of the Temerian ship, his arms crossed and a tankard of stale-tasting mead in his hand, looking out onto the water.

He had never been much of a drinker, but right now he felt like a bit of alcohol could not hurt. Last night had been mostly sleepless, as always, and Vernon was tired, no matter how much he tried to deny it to Ves or Geralt.

He sighed and took another sip, grimacing slightly as the warm, bitter liquid ran down his throat, leaving behind a nasty aftertaste. He considered emptying his drink into the river, then shrugged and took another mouthful instead. It tasted as awful as before, but at least the alcohol finally seemed to take effect.

As he directed his gaze onto the water again, the reflected branches and specks of grey sky on it's surface mixed and whirled in front of his eyes, making him dizzy.

It was a quiet, cool afternoon, and one small part of Vernon enjoyed the peaceful moment. The bigger part of him, however, was restless, and it could not handle doing nothing for too long. It always felt as if he was wasting his time, neglecting something important in the meantime.

Being paralized, not able to do anything, was actually his worst nightmare - He had not been able to save Foltest and he had not even been there when all his men had died, had payed for a crime _he_ had commited...

Ever since that day, Vernon dreamed of being tied to a pole and forced to watch every member of the Blue Stripes perish - one after the other - while he screamed and struggled and kicked against the rope.

And every time he would wake up drenched in sweat, trembling, and full of burning hate for Dethmold and Henselt.

Disgusted, Vernon turned his tankard upside-down and watched as the mead splashed merrily into the river. Then he flung the mug after it and turned, planning to go below.

And suddenly there was a loud crash, a jolt went through the ship and Vernon was thrown off his feet, tumbling to the ground. Small pieces of wood were flying everywhere, raining down next to him, some of them scraping his skin. He let out a string of curses, wondering what was going on, and slowly pushed himself up on his feet.

"What the fuck-"

It looked like a thunderstorm had broken loose. Dark clouds billowed from opposite the deck, where a giant hole gaped in the ship's side between splintered wooden planks. Sparks crackled around it, making it seem as if a thunderbolt had struck their barge and bitten a large chunk out of it.

The ground below Roche's feet shook violently, but he regained his footing and stumbled towards the railing just as Geralt burst onto the deck, with Ves hot on his heels.

"Commander!", she shouted. "We're under attack!"

"I'd noticed that.", Vernon said drily. "Geralt, what the_ hell_ is going on?"

"No idea, but I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Whoever dares to fire at _my_ ship-"

"Shut up a second, Vernon." Geralt went over to the hole and started investigating it carefully. "A common Ballista doesn't do this kind of damage. This is the work of a sorcerer."

Roche did not have time to reply. Again, something struck the boat, this time closer to where they were standing. And this time, Vernon could clearly see the flash of lightning ripping through the air seconds before the impact.

He had to cling to the railing so he would not fall over, but somehow managed even while protecting his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Commander!", he heard Ves scream over the crashing sound of the waves against the ship's body, "Over there! Kaedweni soldiers are coming!"

He looked in the direction she was pointing and saw a group of heavily armed soldiers running from the trees towards the barge, weapons drawn and ready to strike.

With an angry scowl he pulled his sword from it's sheath and looked over to Geralt, who had already done the same. They exchanged a glance.

"Come on, we gotta put a stop to this before they wreck this ship completely! _Charge!_", Vernon bellowed, jumping down into the waist-high water and then making for the shore without looking back to see if Geralt was still there.

Sometimes he still felt uncomfortable entrusting his life to a Witcher, a mutant who did not interest himself in the affairs of others, and who probably did not even know the meaning of real loyalty. But he usually pushed aside those thoughts as soon as they popped up in his mind. The two of them had come to know each other quite well over the past weeks, making them something like brothers in arms, he supposed. Well, there had been some misunderstandings and heated discussions between them, of course, but Vernon considered Geralt his friend nontheless. Maybe even his only friend - even though that was not exactly difficult to be, since there was nobody else left for him.

In any case, he could definetly trust the Witcher to be of help in battle, like now.

The blade swung down on him in a wide arc, aiming for Vernon's neck. He raised his own sword, blocking the heavy but slow hit and then kicked the Kaedweni soldier in the abdomen.

Behind him, Geralt fought three soldiers at once, dodging and swerving in and out of his field of vision.

The number of attackers decreased quickly, but Vernon had lost track anyways. Everything he could think of was fighting, everything he could see was blood and steel. He stabbed one soldier through the left eye, beheaded another. It felt good, so good, he was alive, driven partly by rage and partly by cold warrior's instinct. The fatigue he had felt before was gone.

Another Kaedweni charged at him, with his weapon raised high above his head. He was young and inexperienced, but Vernon did not care. He impaled him with his Falchion, then pulled it out of his torso in one swift motion, splattering the ground with crimson blood.

Suddenly he saw something move from the corner of his eye, just next to the edge of the woods.

"Geralt! The mage! Damn, he's getting away!"

He tried to follow the shape into the forest, but two big men in heavy steel armor blocked the way. He glanced over at his companion. Geralt was surrounded by soldiers.

Vernon cursed. He had no choice but to let the sorcerer get away.

This realisation must have pissed him off pretty badly, because Geralt later told him that he had killed both of the soldiers in less than one minute. Vernon himself did not really remember anything; his memory was a bit hazy. It had probably been the alcohol kicking in.

After the fight the two of them were standing on the shore of the Pontar river between heaps of broken bodies and looking at their ship, taking in the amount of damage it had taken from the sorcerer's attack.

It was even worse than Vernon had feared.

The left lower half of their vessel was a complete mess. Three holes the size of a vegetable cart were gaping in the ship's body just above the portholes. The deck was strewn with debris, between which the sailors were running back and forth, shouting to each other and trying to determine the degree of destruction.

The barge had tipped slightly, looking as if it would capsize any minute now.

Ves had already climbed down, seeming somewhat paler than usual, and was then joined by the bloodsplattered commander and the Witcher.

"Doesn't look good, I'm afraid. What should we do now, sir?"

Vernon sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, frowning.

"Depends on the state of the ship.", he said, then raised his voice and called to the sailors, "Can _anyone_ tell me how long this is gonna take? We're in a bit of a hurry!"

Most of the men simply ignored him, causing Vernon to scowl in irritation until one of them actually turned around reluctantly to answer him.

"Pro'ably some days. A week, at least. Nothin' more we can do." He shrugged and went back to work.

"Shit." Vernon paced up and down restlessly for a minute before continuing: "What now? We have to be in Loc Muinne as soon as possible. That bitch Sile de Tansarville is not going to get away from me. Nor is Dethmold!"

"Calm down, Vernon", Geralt said. "It's not the end of the world."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"I say we walk."

"Walk?" Ves interrupted. "It's at least 20 leagues to Loc Muinne!"

"We can cover the distance in about three days.", Geralt objected.

Vernon looked doubtful at first, but then nodded.

"Geralt is right. I would rather walk all the way from Vergen to Loc Muinne than rot in this thing for days!" He gestured toward the ship.

"But-"

"No buts, Ves, the decision is made. Geralt and I will walk to Loc Muinne. I want you to stay here with the ship and have an eye on the reparations."

"So I'm to rot instead?"

"It can't be changed. I need someone to handle this, someone I can trust. And as I see it, there aren't that many people left to depend on."

Ves lapsed into silence, surprised by the commander's bitter tone.

"Yes, sir.", she said quietly. Then she looked at Geralt. "Please be careful. We are some leagues away from Tiel, and the woods between the town and Loc Muinne are dangerous. Besides, there's still the Kaedweni to worry about."

"Stop mothering us, Ves. We'll be fine. Come on, we still have some time before it gets dark. Let's go."

And the female soldier watched uncomfortably as the two of them disappeared between the trees, feeling a bit lonely. Then she sighed and turned towards the barge, mentally preparing for a week with a bunch of rowdy, half-drunk sailors.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

They had been on the road for about an hour when they encountered the next troop of Kaedweni soldiers.

There were only half a dozen lightly armed men. The entire fight was over in about half a minute, posing not much of a challenge to Geralt and Vernon, who had discovered the enemy first and had been able to ambush them.

Vernon was about to put away his sword when his friend held up a hand and stood still, listening intently.

"Be careful, there's an archer hiding in the trees."

Roche froze in mid-movement, straining his ears. Once again he found himself wondering about Geralt's inhumanly sharp sense of hearing. But then again, the Witcher was not exactly human to begin with.

Vernon scanned the area around them carefully, hoping to find the archer before his arrow would find him. The forest was thick hereabout, keeping a lot of the sun's warming rays out and dipping everything in a dim, greenish light. The air smelled of damp soil and fir needles and moss.

He could not detect anything out of the ordinary. Well, except maybe for the six dead bodies on the forest floor.

Suddenly something thumped to the ground behind them, making the commander spin around wildly and raising his sword in alarm. It turned out to be the right decision.

In front of him stood - bow and arrow in hand and aimed at Vernon's chest - none other than Iorveth, leader of the squirrels. Luckily, Vernon had reacted fast enough and was now pressing the blade of his sword against the elf's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

Iorveth looked horrible (even for a non-human, Roche added in his mind). His face had become sunken and strained, making him look even more serious and cold then before. Of course he had lost the hereditary beauty of his race long ago when someone had taken his eye and scarred his face, but now it was hard to believe that he had ever been handsome. His clothes were torn and singed on the hems and there was dried blood and earth on his skin.

The two men glared at each other with hate-filled expressions, neither of them willing to back down. Roche tensed, grinding his teeth while trying to restrain himself from cutting the elf's throat here and now.

"Well, well. Look who crawled out of his rathole.", he snarled.

Iorveth looked at him with hatred burning in his eyes.

"We meet again, Vernon Roche." He spat out his name like a tough piece of meat stuck in your teeth after chewing. It pissed Vernon off quite a lot.

"What a pity you didn't die at Vergen. And there I'd hoped the Kaedwenis had gotten rid of you for good."

"Sorry to disappoint, commander.", Iorveth said acidly. A nerve twitched just below his good eye. "I chose not to get slaughtered by one of those birdbrained, whore-ploughing drunkards your kind seems to like relying on so badly."

Vernon could feel hot anger boiling inside of him, starting to take over control.

"Oh shut up! You non-humans have no loyalty! Where's your squad of highly trained battle-elves, naming themselves after the most dangerous of creatures living in the forest, huh? Did you leave them behind at Vergen and ran, like the little bitch you are?"

Suddenly something changed. An expression of pure rage swept over Iorveth's features, robbing him of the last trace of humanity left on his disfigured face. His eye opened wide, his lips pulled back showing his bared teeth, and a low growl of fury escaped his throat.

Vernon flinched slightly against his will. He had never seen the elf like this. But just a second later, after he had come over the shock, it just pissed him off even more. He could feel the hand holding his sword shaking violently in anticipation, could hear a snarl of his own rising up from inside his chest.

"I've defeated you once, and I can do it again.", he spat.

"You won't be as lucky as last time, Vernon Roche." Iorveth's voice was not more than a whisper, sounding nothing like his normal voice.

"That's enough, filthy elf! Say your prayers!"

Vernon could see his opposite's bow stretching, ready to shoot and bore the arrow into his flesh.

He did not mind. For all he cared the two of them could kill each other right here and now. At least then he would be free of his guilt and his suffering. And he would have died in battle - a privilege that had been denied to his comrades.

What a great end to the story, he thought. The great Temerian war hero Vernon Roche, commander of the Blue Stripes (and also the only survivor), lost his life in a deadly duel with the wanted non-human criminal Iorveth. Not bad, yes.

And so he put all his strength into his sword arm, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins, aiming for the kill. He did not fear death.

But suddenly he stopped. No, he _was_ stopped.

A strong hand gripped his wrist and prevented his blade from cutting off Iorveth's head. Irritated, Vernon looked at the person restraining him. Geralt stared back, his eyes gleaming dangerously. Now Roche saw that the Witcher's other hand had grabbed Iorveth's weapon and that the elf was glaring at him as well. He was about to open his mouth to protest, but Geralt spoke first.

"Okay, enough. Stop this nonsense! Could you perhaps lay down your lover's spat for a while and concentrate on the matter at hand? I don't want to spoil your fun, but there's a group of soldiers coming our way."

"Lover's-", Vernon began, rounding upon Geralt, but Iorveth suddenly interrupted them.

"As much as I'd like to rip out your throat right now and feed it to the Arachas - the Witcher has a point."

"Thank you.", Geralt said to Iorveth. Then he turned back to the commander, who looked angry and not at all convinced. "Come on, Vernon. I'm not saying you have to work together. Just try not to kill him for about 10 minutes, until we've sorted this out, okay?"

"I'm going to regret this.", Vernon murmured, but he obeyed.

Geralt let go of them, ignoring Roche's suspicious glances and Iorveth's piercing stare while drawing his sword and preparing for the fight to come.

Vernon did not know what to think. He had escaped death, just to find himself fighting side by side with his worst enemy? Well, that didn't go as planned. But still... A small, selfish part deep inside of him was glad he was still alive. Vernon despised that tiny part of him, but it was there nontheless.

Keeping a wary eye on Iorveth, he positioned himself carefully, listening into the forest. There was a faint noise somewhere behind the green, lush trees; the familiar clinking of steel armor and the thumping of heavy boots on the muddy ground.

"There are too many.", Geralt said suddenly from his right. "If they surround us, this is going to become a real pain in the ass. We should get out of here for now."

Before Vernon could protest, the Witcher sheathed his weapon and turned away from him. Iorveth sighed, strapped his bow to his back and followed, his expression grim, but not nearly as horrifying as before.

Roche watched the two of them disappear into the forest at a fast pace and frowned, wondering how the hell it turned out to be like this.

Sure, he despised Iorveth, but the Witcher was his best chance to get to Loc Muinne, where he would finally be able to get his revenge. If he killed the elf now, Geralt would probably not forgive him. Besides, Vernon had to admit Geralt had indeed had a point: Iorveth was a talented fighter, as he had witnessed himself.

And at the moment there was a whole Nation hot on their heels, thirsting for the blood of Henselt's murderer. Vernon was used to making enemies, having always had more foes than friends in his life. But in this time of war and chaos, of pain and loss and guilt and hate and death, he was probably better off not being alone, even when one of his companions was a ruthless, backstabbing, non-human terrorist.

Oh well. He would just go along with Geralt's plans. What other choice did he have anyways? There was still enough time to kill Iorveth after they had kicked some Kaedweni ass. But if that elf made one suspicious move... Vernon would not hesitate for a second to cut his head off, and this time for good.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Later, as dusk began to fall and pale wafts of mist started to creep through the trees towards the edge of the forest, Vernon, Geralt and Iorveth set up camp in the shadow of a huge stone boulder.

Nearby a tiny river was splashing and gurgling peacefully. In the other direction there was a steep slope leading upwards to a small plateau above their temporary resting place, which was encircled by thick bushes tinged with the slight yellow and orange of the beginning fall.

Vernon sat silently on an overturned tree trunk in front of a hole in the bushes. From his position he could overlook a great part of the Aedirnian scenery, with vast, green fields stretching out in the distance and the beautiful Pontar river meandering below him. On the left, just at the horizon, he could see the dark shape of the Blue Mountains standing out against the grey and pink evening sky.

The air was cool and he could feel a slight breeze which carried the scent of the forest. It reminded Vernon of home. He did not notice Geralt approaching until he was standing right behind him.

"How are you holding up? You look tired."

"As much as it ashames me to admit it - these past days have taken their toll on me. Sometimes I think I'm getting soft.", Roche grumbled without turning around.

"That's no surprise, Vernon. Nobody could go through that and just walk away like nothing happened."

"Oh stop that! Don't comfort me, Witcher. Out of your mouth it sounds too much as if you are mocking me."

They were silent for a short while, looking out onto the countryside which was slowly beginning to fade into darkness.

"I know you don't trust Iorveth.", Geralt said finally.

"Damn straight."

"I don't either. But teaming up with him for a short while could proof worthwhile. The Kaedwenis don't expect us to work with a terrorist, maybe they even think he's dead. We'll have the advantage. My enemy's enemy is my friend."

"I think I've heard that one before.", Vernon said and stood up, squaring his shoulders and sighing. "Whatever is necessary to get us to Loc Muinne. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Hm. So you're still on the hunt for Dethmold?"

The commander turned to look at him.

"This is not about me, Geralt. We have to find Sile de Tansarville. And didn't you say something about saving Triss?"

"I haven't forgotten.", the Witcher replied quietly.

"Come on, let's go back. I want to keep an eye on him.", said Vernon and started to lead the way down the rocky slope to their camp.

* * *

Iorveth was still sitting in the same position as when they had left him, with one leg pinned beneath the other and his hands lying loosely on his lap. He was gazing into the fire they had lit up before. The flames danced in the evening breeze, casting flickering shadows on his half-covered face and making the lines seem even deeper than usual.

When Geralt and Vernon approached, he looked up at them for a second, then down again.

"Ah. I see you two finished your little intimate talk. I was already becoming curious about what was taking you so long.", he said with a completely straight face.

"Watch your mouth, elf.", Vernon growled. "Or I'm going to cut out that tongue of yours."

"Feel free to try."

"Ha! There are two of us. You think you stand a chance?"

"Two of you?" Iorveth looked at him sharply. "You sure about that? All I see is a half-crazy Temerian commander who looks like he's more dead than alive and a mutant who loves to stay neutral. If I were in your place I would think twice about challenging me. Oh!", he added as he saw the furious look on Vernon's face. "I'm so sorry, of course I wasn't trying to raise any suspicion between the two of you. All I'm saying is you should think about who to trust, Vernon Roche."

"I know who _not_ to trust. That's enough.", Vernon snapped. "Now mind your own damn business."

"But I am. This is my business as well as it is yours. The way I see it, we are both in the same boat - as wanted criminals and murderers."

"Don't compare me to the likes of you, non-human!", Roche spat with disgust. "This is something else entirely. You have _no_ idea."

"On the contrary. I know very well how you feel. Didn't you wonder about how I escaped Vergen at all?"

Vernon made an annoyed 'tch' noise. As if he cared.

"I was about to ask.", Geralt interfered.

"We were surrounded, cornered in the town hall, and there was no one coming to rescue us. The fight was lost, we knew that much. But my men did not give up. They fought until the end. I would have done the same, but before I could join them in death, someone dragged me outside through the fire. I don't remember much, but they must have heaved me onto a horse. When I woke up I was in the forest outside of town. The battle was over, lost, and none of my comrades had survived. I wanted to avenge them by taking Henselt's life, but he was already dead. So I took another horse and left Vergen, going as fast as possible, fleeing from the few remaining Kaedweni troops that were after the king's murderer. As soon as I saw you back in the forest, I knew you were responsible for Henselt's murder. He slaughtered all your men too, after all. That's what we've got in common. What's different, however, is that their death is _your_ fault alone. You had to play conspirator, and they paid the price."

Iorveth's voice sounded more bitter and cruel with every word he spoke. His face bore the same expression it had on their earlier encounter - with wild eyes and an angry, animalistic grimace.

"You had no right to kill Henselt. You have only yourself to blame.", he said, in a voice nothing more than a whisper.

Vernon grew cold with rage. His hands clenched into fists, with the fingernails digging painfully into his palms, drawing blood; but he did not notice. All color had drained from his face.

Iorveth's chest was heaving, he was panting and breathing heavily. The two of them locked eyes, putting all the hate and animosity and distrust they had piled up for each other over the years into their stares.

From the corner of his eye, Vernon could see Geralt watching them, staying out of the affair, staying _neutral_. The realization hit him hard: Iorveth had been right about the Witcher.

And suddenly - nothing. He stopped feeling anything, just went numb. All the fury, the feeling of hatred, of confusion and guilt just vanished, disappeard into nothingness.

He got to his feet, sensing two pairs of eyes on him, watching.

"I'm going to sleep.", he declared, his voice clear and strong, but devoid of any emotion. Vernon simply turned and walked away.

He did not go to sleep. Instead he positioned himself on the tree trunk somewhere in the bushes, wide awake, with his sword at his side, keeping watch and waiting for the morning to come.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day they decamped at dawn.

Vernon was tired, hungry and in a very bad mood. He looked accordingly, which was probably why Geralt and Iorveth refrained from bothering him and kept their distance. They exchanged an occasional word or two, but apart from that there was not much talking. The atmosphere between the three silent travelers was icy.

Roche, much like the others, was occupied with his own thoughts. Yesterday's conversation kept popping up in his mind every once in a while, no matter how hard he tried to keep it out of there.

Over night the feelings had slowly returned to him, like little droplets of water trickling from the tap into a bowl, filling it up until it's full. And the more liquid there was in the bowl, the more the falling drops rippled the surface. Some time before dawn, maybe around four in the morning, the bowl had finally run over. As a consequence, Vernon had mutilated a tree beyond recognition and cut down most of the bushes around him in blind rage. When he came to, he had been standing in the midst of this chaos, his body trembling and aching all over. With the last of his strength he had sat down on the hard ground with his back against a tree and fallen asleep at once.

Now he merely felt numb, both physically and emotionally.

One more hour for himself, he resolved, and then he would be his old self again. He could not allow himself to mope around for any longer.

"Pull yourself together, you washout.", Vernon told himself again. "You're a soldier, not some whiny, weak coward."

If only it were so easy. He squared his shoulders, still feeling yesterday's fights (both with humans and plants) in his bones.

"Maybe I'm getting old", he thought. Or maybe it had just been the tree he had involuntarily cuddled with tonight. Talk about sleeping like a log.

Oh the Gods, there was definitely something wrong with him.

Some minutes later another question that had bothered Vernon for some time now crept up in his mind: _Why_ exactly was Iorveth here? He decided that wrestling with the problem on his own would not solve it, so he fell in beside Geralt - who brung up the rear of their little group - and said:

"We should kill him."

"Well that was subtle.", Geralt deadpanned. "Even for you. Why the sudden change of mind?"

"No need to be sarcastic."

"You're a fine one to talk."

"Oh shut up. What I'm saying is - he's dangerous. And the longer I have to put up with him, the more I fail to understand his reason for accompanying us."

"You think he has some kind of plan?"

"Elves always have some kind of evil plan, Geralt.", Vernon sneered. "It's just what they do."

Geralt obviously was not keen on discussing his view on non-humans with the commander, so he returned the subject to Iorveth's possible motivation.

"Maybe he felt lonely."

"Don't make me laugh."

"You want to hear my opinion or not? I think he's not that different from you. His men got killed by Henselt's army. He's the only one left, and now he's out for revenge. Sound familiar?"

Vernon shot him a sharp look. "Well, then he can shove this revenge up his elven arse. Dethmold's mine."

"Oh, you can have him."

Vernon and Geralt stopped dead in their tracks. Iorveth had turned around and was adressing them with a half amused, half disgusted look on his face.

"I can hear you, you know."

"Damn your ploughing elf-ears.", Vernon muttered.

"I don't plan on taking revenge on this sorcerer of yours. I'm just looking for someone I lost along the way.", Iorveth continued, ignoring Roche. "Revenge is pathetic. It only leads to more bloodshed. Unfortunately for you, that's what the foolish D'hoine love most, and with revenge, you ensure that the fighting never stops. You killed Henselt, are you happy now? Revenge is not just. It merely makes the one seeking it feel better along the way, and in the end it only gives him more despair."

Vernon snorted contemptously. "They say the journey is the reward. I say shut your dirty mouth and mind your own business."

* * *

The attack came around noon, catching the group by surprise this time.

Geralt (and Iorveth, much to Vernon's dismay) did hear the soldiers approaching, but before all of them had drawn their weapons they were already surrounded. Roche cursed, while Iorveth just grimaced at the sight of all the enemies and Geralt did not show any sign of emotion whatsoever.

There were about twenty men in total, all of them carrying swords or axes or clubs and wearing suits of heavy, gleaming metal armor. Something seemed off, however. Vernon could see the Kaedweni colours on the soldier's trousers and helmets - one of them even had a small banner on his spear - but there was something different about this particular squad. It seemed oddly familiar to him...

Then, as the leader of the troop stepped forward, Vernon suddenly understood who he was facing. The Witcher let out a low whistle of surprise, shifting his weight slightly to the right.

"I don't know why, but you seem to attract people acquainted to us like an oil lamp attracts moths in the evening.", Vernon noted drily.

"Must be my incredibly irresistable charm.", Geralt deadpanned. "I thought you wanted to get as far away from here as possible?", he then asked the man standing before them.

Adam Pangratt, former leader of the sly cats, recent commander of the mercenaries' group and current deserter from the Kaedweni army, did not look happy at all with his situation. Neither did the other mercenaries, for that matter.

"I did.", he confirmed uncomfortably, "but something, or rather someone, has interfered with that plan. It pains me more than you can imagine to face you here in battle again, after you have spared me in our previous encounter, Witcher Geralt."

"Then tell us why you are here, Pangratt.", Vernon said, somewhat annoyed.

"As you know, Henselt is dead."

"We are... aware, yes."

"Dethmold the Sorcerer is now completely out of his mind with paranoia. Got himself holed up in some tower in Loc Muinne, probably never wanting to take a step out into the sun ever again. He's, let's say, very _concerned_ with his safety-"

"Get to the point, will you?", Vernon snapped.

"He offered me more money than I have ever earned in my entire life as a fighter for stopping you two from getting to the city. He did not mention the elf, though." Pangratt gestured toward Iorveth, who was following the conversation with only dampened enthusiasm.

"I almost killed you last time. What makes you think you can win now?", Geralt asked with a perfectly level voice.

"I don't think I can win against you. But I don't have a choice. I'm in desperate need of money. You see, my wife-"

"No need to elaborate.", Iorveth interrupted. "Can we get this over with? I'm getting tired of all the people with weapons staring at us like hungry vultures."

Adam sighed regretfully. "Nothing personal, Witcher." He raised his huge broadsword and took a step towards him. Geralt shrugged.

"No offense taken. You're just doing your job. Again. But don't hold it against me when I kill you this time."

Roche rolled his eyes at the Witcher's infuriatingly nonchalant attitude. Then he positioned himself, grabbing the hilt of his sword firmly and grinning inwardly in anticipation of the upcoming brawl. He felt in desperate need of some physical exercise.

Then suddenly he realised how bloodthirsty he had become. He wanted to slash, pierce, kill - see Kaedweni blood. No, actually, it did not matter whom he fought, as long as he could use his sword...

Heavens, what had _happened_ to him? He was a monster... Vernon's stomach turned as he remembered king Henselt with the dagger in his chest, sprawled on the floor with his arms stretched to both sides and the satisfaction he had felt at that moment. He recalled the soldiers he had killed after the destruction of their ship-

He shook his head violently to stop the flow of images flashing before his eyes, earning himself a slightly confused look from Geralt. This was not the time to feel sorry for the many, many people he had killed in his life as a soldier. Actually, that time was never. Vernon was not someone who dwelled on the past or cried over spilt milk. Usually.

Fortunately, he did not have to deal with those thoughts any longer, because at that very moment Adam Pangratt charged at Geralt and thus announced the beginning of the fight.

Two soldiers attacked Roche at once, one with a large bat, the other one with a vicious-looking axe in his hands. Vernon welcomed the rush of adrenaline flaring up inside of him and countered the first man's hit while dodging the other one's. He killed both of them in under a minute, leaving him out of breath and covered in sweat.

Vernon glanced at Geralt, who was duelling Adam while simultanously defending himself against three other attackers. He decided that the Witcher would probably be fine on his own and was about to turn back to his own fight, when he suddenly heard a noise from behind him. Unnoticed by Vernon, a scrawny mercenary had snuck up to him behind his back. Now he was charging with surprising speed, brandishing a large knife, a mad grin plastered over his face.

It was too late to block the hit. Vernon had reacted too slowly. His eyes widened slightly and his insides grew cold as he looked at his inevitable doom. Time seemed to run in slow motion as the screams and battle noises around him turned to a steady buzzing in Vernon's ears.

And then, without warning, the charging soldier stopped in mid-attack. His eyes bulged and his mouth stood ajar in an expression of almost comical surprise. He dropped the knife and made a choking, gurgling kind of noise before he staggered another step towards Vernon and then collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.

Vernon blinked, unsure of what had just happened. Then he saw the long, slender arrow that protruded from the mercenary's back just below the shoulder blade, piercing his heart. Now he understood, and was not exactly happy about it.

He shot Iorveth, who was standing to his left with his bow drawn, a look full of acid. Ire and shame surged through him and he could feel his face grow hot. With an angry snarl he turned away from the elf, ignoring the calm look on the latter's face, and occupied himself with the remaining foes.

In the meantime Geralt and Adam were still exchanging blows, but it soon became apparent that The Witcher was getting the upper hand quickly. He dodged and parried, pushing Pangratt back one step at a time. Finally, the mercenary stood with his back against a broad tree, and with a quick, strong slash Geralt disarmed him and drove him to his knees. What followed was a sudden but refreshing silence as the bluster of battle cut off abruptly. All the soldiers were on the ground, most of them injured or dead. Iorveth and Vernon stood amidst the bodies with blood-splattered weapons and clothes, looking exhausted but otherwise unharmed.

Geralt pointed the tip of his sword at Adam's throat and said, "So here we are again."

"Finish it, Witcher.", Adam wheezed, looking into the other man's eyes with a firm gaze. "I don't deserve your mercy."

"You don't. But now that you have failed Dethmold again, you can't expect him to be very friendly either. He's going to announce you a criminal, maybe a traitor, and hunt you down. You know how he is."

"Paranoid, aggressive, a lunatic?"

"Exactly. But as it turns out, everyone present seems to have a backstory of some kind with Dethmold. Why don't you join our jolly little party? The more the merrier."

"I know I'm not in the position to say this, but I'll have to decline. Revenge is not my business."

Vernon raised one eyebrow.

"Why don't we end this now?", Adam suggested.

"Alright." To everyone's surprise, Geralt sheathed his sword. "You can go. But this time I advise you to do it. Dethmold's probably not gonna be as generous as I am."

Adam pushed himself to his feet slowly. "I appreciate it. I'm in your debt, Witcher.", he said. "Oh, one last thing. Let me warn you. There are many more people after you. And one of them is the older of Dethmold's two apprentices. You should be careful."

Geralt nodded. Vernon considered making a snide remark, but decided against it. So they just watched Adam disappear into the forest, this time for good. None of the three ever spoke to him again.

For the rest of the day, Vernon kept his distance from Iorveth. He was not in the mood for the elf's gloating (or at least that was what Vernon imagined him to do), since he felt bad enough already for being saved by him.

Shortly before dusk they discovered another suitable location for their small bivouac and set up for the night. This time, Vernon did not even try to stay awake. His fatigue overcame him as soon as he settled down, pulling him downwards through a vortex of emotions and dreams into the depths of sleep.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

That night Vernon Roche slept badly.

Ever since the day he and Geralt had come back from the hut on the cliffs to find the Kaedweni camp empty except for some soldiers and a mass of dead bodies, he dreamed vividly. His nightmares were haunted by visions of his men hanged in the canteen with bags over their heads, concealing their pain-twisted features and accusing stares. He could hear them whisper in his head, and the sound very nearly drove him crazy every time.

The horrible stench of burning hair, rotten flesh and feces crawled up his nose. Nausea welled up inside him. When he tried to move he felt rooted to the spot, fighting against invisible bonds but achieving nothing. In his ears resounded the clash of metal on metal and the screams of the dying, filled with agony and silent imputation.

This night, something new slipped into the old, well-known nightmare: The cries of a woman, quiet at first, but then growing louder and louder and louder until it became ear-splitting. Vernon tried desperately to cover his ears and block out the sound, but he still could not move. Then he saw Ves, cowering under the table in the canteen and crying, eyes red and sore, her legs pulled against her body and shaking with sobs.

"Save me.", she pleaded, her voice no more than a whisper. But he couldn't. Vernon tried, he struggled, howled, cursed, but nothing changed. Then Henselt appeared out of thin air. He grabbed the female soldier's upper arm and yanked her to her feet violently, laughing in a cruel, prurient way that made Vernon grow cold with horror and hot with disugst and revulsion at the same time. Ves screamed again; a distressed, pained wail that shook him to the core.

"Please, no... No! Stop, please!", she begged, but Henselt only laughed harder, ripping her clothes off and pinning her against the wall. Then Ves suddenly turned her head and looked right into Roche's eyes.

"Help me, Vernon.", she whispered. "Help...me..."

And then the scene changed abruptly. Instead of Ves, there was another woman - a woman who seemed strangely familiar to him - and instead of Henselt there was another man. He had no eyes and no nose, only his grinning mouth was leering in the plain, white mask that should have been his face.

Suddenly Vernon felt different, smaller and weaker. He noticed he was standing behind some kind of cloth, a curtain maybe, and was peering through a slit into the room. For a second he was confused - what was going on here? - until it all came to him at once, hitting him hard like a slap to the face.

The woman was his mother.

Emotions he thought long forgotten came rushing back to him, clawing at his heart. Anger, disgust, frustration, helplessness, jealousy, shame - his head was spinning violently. All those feelings had accompanied him every day when he had been a child. Memories flashed before him, memories of men, many of them, that he had despised, and memories of his mother's tired smile that had never really reached her eyes.

She had never told him, but Vernon had known she was a prostitute as long as he could remember. He never mentioned it, and his mother did not talk about it, either. Most of their time together they had spent in silence. Back then, the silence had not been unpleasant. Now, in his dream, the silence that filled his ears almost physically hurt.

Vernon's tiny hands were clamped into the rough linen curtain and shaking slightly. He did not want to look, did not want to see his mother like this again- He froze.

The man lying on top of his mother had stopped moving. For a second, nothing happened. Then he started turning his head towards the child behind the cloth with excrutiating slowness. Vernon's heart beat fiercly in his chest, he started sweating.

And finally, the stranger was looking at him, directly into his eyes. He was no longer faceless. The man had turned into Dethmold the sorcerer.

"Kill me if you dare.", he snarled, his lips twisted into a mad, taunting grin. "You are never going to catch me. You can't even-" In mid-sentence, his voice changed into that of Iorveth. "-save your own men. Their death is _your_ fault alone. You had to play conspirator, and they paid the price. You have only yourself to blame."

Vernon opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. He struggled. No no no _no no-_

He jerked awake with a hoarse shout, panting and bathed in cold sweat. His teeth were clenched tightly and his face was twisted into a grimace of fury.

"What ever it is you negated, I beg to differ and say yes. Just on principle."

Vernon was startled out of his paralysis by Iorveth's quiet, quizzical voice from somewhere to his left.

"Then you beg to be wrong." He grumbled, wiping his brow. "On principle."

Iorveth chuckled drily. "Sounded like quite the bad dream you had there. What a nice discovery; even the hard-boiled, imperturbable commander Roche has nightmares once in a while."

"Hmph. None of your business."

"Maybe not."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Vernon sat up and took in his bearings, as far as this was possible in the dim light of the moon. Next to the little fireplace they had set up yesterday he could make out a shape sitting cross-legged on the ground. The trees around them moved in the gentle breeze and made a faint rustling noise that somehow seemed to calm him down a bit.

"You don't look like you've slept that well either.", he noted to Iorveth, but not without putting a note of spiteful reproach into his voice.

"Did you really expect me to go to sleep next to a man that wants me dead? And I'm not even starting to think about _your_ intentions"

That in turn made Vernon chuckle. He glanced over to Geralt who was dozing on the other side of the fire, completely oblivious to their night-time conversation.

Again there was silence, but this time it felt like Iorveth was waiting for something. Vernon suddenly remembered what had been nagging at him since this afternoon. He felt reluctant to say it, but he did anyways.

"If you're expecting me to thank you for saving my life - I'm not intending to."

"I didn't think so. But it's already a surprise to me that you even remembered."

For some reason this pissed Vernon off. He felt like the elf was trying to hurt his pride.

"I don't simply _forget_ about being saved, even if it's by a filthy non-human. Which is a _disgrace_ by itself.", he growled through gritted teeth.

"I guess that's as close to a 'thanks' as you can get.", Iorveth sighed. "But I don't forget my debts either. In our duel at Flotsam, you spared me, be it unintentionally. We are even now."

"Oh, so _that's_ what you were playing at all this time, wasn't it? You're still sulking because you lost against me back then!"

"You wish, silly D'Hoine."

"What, you wanna have another go? Fine with me!"

"Not now, it would be an unfair fight. Like beating a child with a stick."

"What was that? You little-"

"Hey, could you guys pipe down a bit?", Geralt suddenly said from where he was lying. "There are still people trying to sleep. Not everyone wants to hear the two of you bitching at each other like a freshly married couple. Go and get yourself a room or something."

"Excuse me?!"

But Geralt had already turned around and gone back to sleep. Vernon laid down with a bemused mumble and stared up at the star-spangled sky. He did not fall asleep for a very long time, only shortly before dawn he slipped into an uneasy, dreamless slumber. Several times he could hear the sound of someone tossing and turning from Iorveth's direction, and once he heard him moan quietly in his sleep. The next morning however, he was not sure if he hadn't just imagined it.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Adam Pangratt was dead.

They found him the next day, pinned to a tree with his own blade like a letter against a notice board. It had been hard to identify him, given that the complete left half of his face had been burnt off. His body was swarming with flies, and a dark puddle of blood had formed at his feet.

_Oh, this is just great_, Vernon thought. _Another thing that's going to haunt me in my dreams._

He stood aside from the others, leaning against a rock with his arms crossed and watching Iorveth and Geralt grimly as they examined the corpse.

Finally, Iorveth straightened and took a step away from Adam's dead body. "He didn't seem like a bad man.", he said.

Geralt wiped his hands on his trousers and turned away. "Yeah. Most people with his profession turn into cruel, thoughtless killing machines eventually. Either that, or they become numb and cynical. He was neither. I guess in the end he just worked for the wrong people."

"Dethmold's apprentice? The one he told us about?", Vernon interjected.

"Most likely. His torso is burnt down to the bones. This is definitely the work of a sorcerer."

Too much information. "The bastard. It's about time someone cut him down to size. And I mean literally."

Geralt just nodded absent-mindedly. "We shouldn't angle for a confrontation, though. Our main goal is to get to Loc Muinne as fast as possible."

Vernon shrugged. "Yeah, right. I still hope we run into him on accident, so I can smash his head in."

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning walking silently. Vernon's mood had worsened since yesterday, but if due to the nightmares or Adam's death he did not know. Also, the nightly conversation was still coursing through his mind.

Suddenly a noise from somewhere ahead made the group stop dead in their tracks. It was a quiet moan that was only barely audible in the silence that followed their sudden halt. Vernon and Geralt exchanged an alarmed look. Iorveth pulled out his bow.

"Who's there?", Vernon shouted, his sword halfway drawn. Another groan.

"H-help..."

His heart beat faster as he remembered his dream, the dead, Ves calling for help...

"Show yourself!", he bellowed, his voice a bit more harsh than he had intended.

Geralt held up a hand to silence him and moved slowly around the large tree from behind which the voice was coming. Iorveth and Vernon followed carefully.

On the moist forest floor behind the tree sat a woman, smeared with dirt and desperately clutching a bloody knife to her chest. She looked flustered and scared. Strewn around her were several corpses of Nekkers. As they approached, the woman started and raised the weapon again with shaking hands.

"D- Don't come-"

"Calm down, Miss. What happened here?" Geralt asked.

"Th-the monsters, they just... Oh god, I... They just appeared out of thin air, it was so f-fast I couldn't..." She spluttered hysterically. "I- I didn't even see them coming!"

"Okay, it's fine now, just drop the knife-"

"Witcher.", Iorveth suddenly interrupted, his voice very calm and quiet. "The Nekkers."

Vernon looked away from the woman and stared at the monster's corpse Iorveth was pointing at, confused.

"What is i- Oh."

With a pang, Vernon suddenly realized what Iorveth was getting at. He and Geralt noticed at the same time.

The corpse did not show any signs of stab wounds. Instead, there were definite burn marks on it's arms and legs. As he turned his eyes back to the woman, she was no longer cowering in fear, but grinning madly at him.

"Oops!", she said in mock surprise. "You got me!"

And suddenly, without any warning, she raised her hands and the next second Vernon was flying through the air, blasted off his feet by an invisible force. He did not even have the time to open his mouth to cry out. Everything became blurry, rushing past him at impossible speed. The moment stretched and stretched until Vernon almost begged it to stop. Then he hit the ground hard.

On impact the air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving him choking and gasping for oxygen. A second later the pain set in and would probably have made him hiss in agony had there been any air left in his body to make a sound. His vision clouded over and the rushing of his own blood filled his ears.

While Vernon was writhing on the ground in pain, completely blind and deaf to what was going on around him, hell broke lose. Countless soldiers emerged from the bushes, charging at Geralt and Iorveth. The sorceress had gotten to her feet and was duelling the Witcher with spells, filling the air with sparks, flames and crackling bolts of electricity. And to top it off, all the commotion soon attracted another group of Nekkers that joined the fray happily and with bared teeth.

After a minute of seemingly endless anguish, Vernon finally managed to roll over and catch a few shuddering, achy breaths. His vision had cleared slightly, and the previously excruciating pain in his back had now reduced to a steady, sharp throb. He grimaced as he tried to turn his head and look around. Though he still felt dizzy, he could at least make out Geralt and Iorveth in the distance, fighting like lions against both beasts and men in the midst of the chaos.

It took another minute or so for him to completely understand what was going on, and another to gather the strength to try and get up. Of course he had only been lucky until that moment. The other people had probably thought him dead, but now that he was moving, he had made himself a target again. As Vernon was just in the middle of trying to prop himself up on his elbows, a Kaedweni soldier in a dirt-streaked leather armor decided to attack him.

His heavy axe swung mercilessly down on Vernon, just narrowly missing his head by an inch. The injured commander rolled away ungracefully, the pain in his back flaring up again. He clenched his teeth and fought back a shout rising up in his throat. While his attacker was busy pulling the axe out of the ground, Vernon managed to push himself to his knees.

Then the soldier tried again, this time more successfully. As Vernon desperately tried to dodge the wild swing with the weapon, the blade scraped his shoulder. Hot pain shot up his arm, throwing him off balance.

_Focus!_, he shouted at himself in his head, unwilling to give up. Vernon gripped the hilt of his sword that was strapped to his waist and struggled to get it out of the sheath with trembling hands. _Come on, come on..._

His head snapped up as the soldier charged at him with a strange sort of battle cry. Vernon let out the shaky breath he had been holding and then forced himself to stand up, ignoring the horrible pain it caused him. With a flourish he pulled his sword, and then, with the familiar and self-acting accurateness, he slipped the blade through the hole in his opponent's defense and impaled him. The soldier gasped, coughed up some blood which splattered all over Vernon's hands and then collapsed to the ground.

Vernon breathed heavily. He could not even stand properly, but he had still killed this man as if he'd just cut a slice of bread. Geralt had been right; he had turned into a cold-blooded killing machine. But he supposed he had known that for a long time. No point in regretting anything right now.

Pressing a hand to his aching side, he fought the vertigo that suddenly gripped him, until it felt relatively save to move again.

"Alright, here we go." He muttered through clenched teeth, his jaw set.

He started running towards the fight that was going on around Geralt, Iorveth and the sorceress, his sword slashing and cutting mercilessly. Four Nekkers and two men fell by the commander's hand until he had reached the main site of the battle. By the time he got there he was bathed in sweat and panting. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his arm from the cut in his shoulder, but he did not care.

He charged madly at the sorceress who had her back turned to him. Vernon was pissed, he was furious, he wanted to slit her open from top to bottom and watch her entrails spill to the ground.

Geralt and Iorveth, who were still battling the last surviving soldiers and Nekkers, looked at him in surprise as he sprinted past. He came closer and closer to the mage until, just before he reached her, she spun around and looked directly at him. Again she raised her hands, but this time Vernon was prepared. As the ball of fire materialized in the air in front of him, he dove to the side. His battered body screamed in protest. He rolled off his shoulder and jumped to his feet again in one fluid motion, just as he'd learned in his days at the military academy. To accomplish this without hurting his cut shoulder, however, he had to drop his sword - but it did not matter.

The sorceresses eyes widened as he stormed towards her at a breakneck pace. She did not have the time to fire another spell at him. Vernon jumped and crashed into her, pulling her to the ground with him. Again, pain so strong that it almost drove tears into his eyes hit his back. The woman screeched and tried to push him off, but his grip remained firm.

White-hot rage coursed through him. It numbed the pain as well as his thoughts. He felt his hands grab ahold of the sorceresses throat and squeeze mercilessly. She struggled and clawed at him, the life draining slowly but steadily from her body. Vernon's face was contorted into a mask of fury, his eyes wild and full of hatred. His mind was completely blank. Now he only acted on instinct.

_People with his profession turn into cruel, thoughtless killing machines._

_Heavens, what happened to me? I'm a monster!_

_Revenge only leads to more bloodshed. Unfortunately, that's what you D'hoine love the most._

_Revenge is not just. In the end it only leads to despair._

Suddenly Vernon jerked backwards, pulling his hands off the woman's throat. He looked around. Saw Iorveth and Geralt, saw them staring at him, their expressions grave.

Everyone else was dead. Vernon panted, gasping for air, his mouth suddenly very dry. He gaped down at his trembling, blood-splattered hands for what seemed like an eternity. He could feel the chest of the woman pinned below him raising and falling slightly, almost impalpably.

"Vernon-", Geralt said, his voice far, far away. Roche scowled. Then he passed out, his body slipping down from the unconscious form of the sorceress and hitting the ground next to her.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

He woke several hours later, feeling as if someone had ripped out his spine and then crammed it back in the other way around. His shoulder was wrapped in some kind of bandage and started throbbing with dull pain as he moved. Vernon pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around.

"Ah, you're awake."

He turned his head towards the voice, squinting to see Geralt sitting near a fire in the dim light of the evening.

"How's the back?", he asked.

"Never felt better.", Vernon grumbled grimly, wiping his forehead.

Geralt picked up a stick from the ground and started to poke around in the ashes of the fire.

"Where's Iorveth?", Roche asked.

"I don't know. Somewhere over there, I reckon." The Witcher gestured vaguely. "Don't worry, he hasn't made a run for it yet."

"He'd better not. What... happened to the woman?"

Geralt looked up, taking his time to reply.

"She survived, but committed suicide as soon as she woke up. Not without trying to torch Iorveth first, though."

"Well, I can't blame her for that."

"Good to see you didn't lose your fine sense of humor."

"Shut up, Geralt."

"Sure. So, do you feel up to walking again tomorrow?"

"Of course. It takes more than that little bit of flying to break my back."

With a stiffled groan he got to his feet and stretched carefully. "Not that I enjoyed it, mind you.", he added, then nodded approvingly. His injuries did sting a bit, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"Good. We're staying here for the night and move on tomorrow morning at dawn. Now it's not far to Loc Muinne.", Geralt said, throwing aside the stick.

"Make sure you don't slow us down."

Vernon rolled his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you sound more and more like that elf?", he murmured to himself as he laid back down again. "Oh well."

He sunk into the peaceful, comatose sleep from before, and for the first time in weeks, he did not dream. The events of the day seemed almost like one, however.

* * *

As Geralt had predicted, it was not far to their destination. They came into visual range of Loc Muinne around noon the next day, stopping at a plateau high enough to overlook the whole city. Geralt and Iorveth had left Vernon in peace, sensing that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Ever since the encounter with the sorceress, he had been very quiet.

After taking in the beautiful view for several minutes, Iorveth spoke up. "Well, this is where we part ways."

"You know what, I remember seeing this rare herb on our way here. I hope I can leave you alone for a minute without the two of you tearing each other to pieces.", Geralt said abruptly. Then he simply walked away and disappeared between the trees, leaving behind a bewildered Temerian commander and a sceptical elf.

Vernon had had a bunch of objections ready especially for this occasion, but Geralt's sudden departure had thrown him off track. He and Iorveth just stared at each other for a minute.

"I'm going to leave the two of you at this point." Iorveth finally said.

"What makes you think I'm going to let you go just like that? You are still a wanted criminal."

"Let me remind you that you are, too. Interesting situation, isn't it?"

"That's... something completely different.", Vernon growled, though not convinced of his own words.

"Oh, is it? What a shame, and here I'd thought you'd learned something about all of this. Seems like I was wrong."

Vernon just grinded his teeth.

"I was surprised you were able to stop yourself from killing the sorceress."

The sudden change of topic surprised Vernon. He looked up sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is this: The man I met just a few days ago in the was so full with rage and hatred and bitterness, haunted by his demons and fixated only on his revenge, turning into a cold-blooded killing-machine... He would have killed the woman without hesitation." He left it hanging there, but Vernon knew exactly what he was getting at.

But before he could start ranting, insulting Iorveth or telling him to mind his own fucking business, Iorveth suddenly held out his hand. Vernon stared at it, completely dumbfounded.

Then he remembered Iorveth's story. What he had told them about his escape from Vergen and the loss of his men. He recalled the expression in his eyes as they had threatened each other with their weapons, the look of blank fury on his face, and the words he had said to him later that day: "He slaughtered all your men too, after all. That's what we've got in common. What's different, however, is that their death is your fault alone."

And Vernon understood. It surprised him, but he did really understand,

This was something new for him. He had hated non-humans all his life, killing many, many of them, often without a reason. But what he now felt was something closely resembling a feeling of sympathy. Yes, he understood now. Even though he didn't like it much.

When Geralt returned from the forest (obviously he had not found that super rare herb he had supposedly seen), he witnessed something that made him smile involuntarily for the first time in a long while.

_Well well_, he thought. _What an unexpected development._

Iorveth and Vernon Roche, two men who could not be more different from each other, two of the greatest enemies, stood facing each other and shaking hands in a gesture of deep and profound respect.

When the moment ended, their arms dropped back to their sides.

"But don't misunderstand, Vernon Roche.", Iorveth said. "I still dislike you."

"Took the words right out of my mouth. Now get outta my sight before I change my mind and drag you into a dungeon by your ploughing pointy ears."

Iorveth grinned. Then he turned to Geralt.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Gwynnbleid." He bowed mockingly.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I am looking for someone dear to me. And for someone... who isn't. I believe they are in Loc Muinne. But that's all you need to know."

Geralt understood and just nodded.

"Oh, one more thing." He adressed Vernon once more. "Take care of Dethmold. It would be an extenuation to call him a filthy, cowardly, loathsome bastard, and I think I'd enjoy his death a great deal."

"You don't need to tell me that. The two of us are going to have some fun, and with that I mean _I'll_ have the fun and _he'll_ have the anguish.", Vernon replied grimly. "Now shove off, elf."

Iorveth snorted. He then raised a hand to wave goodbye to the Witcher and left Vernon and Geralt to finish what they had started.


End file.
